The Case of the Detective from the States
by bemj11
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, and Inspectors Lestrade and Gregson are called together to solve a case taking place within the city of Boston, but when they arrive they find the police uncooperative,hostile, and possibly even deranged.Just what is going on?
1. Chapter 1

It was a very troubled looking Inspector Gregson who walked through our door and into the sitting room. He paused just inside the door, looked around the room, and turned to leave before stopping himself. He remained in that spot for perhaps two seconds more, then strode decisively across the room to stand before Holmes and myself.

"Not a case, then, Inspector?" My friend asked from his chair. Apparently in no mood to be incredulous, the man merely shook his head. Holmes waved him to the couch. "Have a seat."

The Inspector did so, and took to studying the room nervously. It seemed almost as if he were afraid to speak, unusual coming from a man who had visited countless times to request assistance in a case and had weathered a multitude of criticisms from Holmes.

Holmes had no patience for the other man's reluctance. "Out with it, man! What brings you here?"

Gregson started, and looked down at the floor before his eyes sought out Holmes'. "I need some advice."

"I cannot advise you with information, Inspector." Holmes reminded him impatiently.

"Gregson." The Inspector corrected. "This is personal, not business." He hesitated a second longer before making an announcement that seemed to have nothing to do with his visit. "Lestrade is going on holiday. In the States." He swallowed, and for a moment I thought his next statement was a joke. "He has asked me to go with him."

"Lestrade asked _you_ to go on holiday with him?" I blurted, incredulous. The two men still, after all this time, could hardly stand each other, though it was hardly apparent to the casual observer, so professional had they become about it.

"Exactly." Gregson confirmed I was not hearing things. "I'm trying to decide if I should."

"He asked you to go?" Holmes asked.

Gregson nodded. "This morning. He said he was going to the States for a few weeks and would like for me to come along."

"What was his precise wording, when he requested your company?"

Gregson thought for a second. "He walked up to me as I was heading for my office. 'I'm going to the States,' he said. 'on holiday. Would you come along? I've already made arrangements with the Superintendent, we can leave tomorrow morning.' I proceeded to stare at him, and he added 'You've been working just as hard as I lately, I'm sure you could use a break.' It was the strangest thing I've ever witnessed."

"Did he seem genuine about the offer?" Holmes had located his pipe and was now lighting it as he spoke; Gregson was used to such behavior by now and didn't blink when my friend tossed the match absently to the floor rather than in the fire.

"That's another thing. It was like when he invites someone over for dinner, or when he requests a specific person to accompany him on a case. Like he was doing it at someone else's request and his own opinion didn't matter."

"You think his wife put him up to it?" I asked. Gregson shook his head.

"His wife has him invite me over for dinner on occasion; she doesn't have him take people on holiday." I knew what he meant; _they_ went on holiday, together, on the rare occasions Lestrade took off from work.

"Could it be work related?" Holmes asked.

Another denial. "The Superintendent still doesn't trust us to work together without him there to remind us to 'play nice' every day, not since I blacked Lestrade's eye, never mind that it was under _your_ orders, Holmes."

"Could there be some evil intent?" I suggested. "Someone wants to get to you, Inspec – Gregson, and threatened him to gain his cooperation?"

Holmes refuted that theory. "In that case, why not use someone less conspicuous? And Lestrade is hardly the best choice if you hope to threaten someone into submission. He would not go along with such an attempt."

"He could be unaware of the intentions of whoever wanted to get to Gregson." I offered. "Or perhaps Lestrade is in some danger himself and merely wants someone along that he can trust."

Holmes was silent, considering. "It sounds as if he plans to meet someone while in the States, and that that person has requested your presence. If Lestrade did not seem nervous, or reluctant, or upset when he asked you to come along, then I doubt this person has any evil designs planned for you. Whether there may be some sort of case involved or not I cannot say, and whether you wish to go or not is your choice."

Gregson scowled. "Well of course I do not _wish_ to go!" He declared. "As if I enjoyed being around the man even at the best of times!" He calmed somewhat. "But he has asked, where he would not, under normal circumstances, have done so, and as he would probably enjoy trip as little as I, I believe he has good reason for it and that I should accept." He paused, and looked from Holmes to me then back. "Do you think I am mistaken, to go with him?"

Holmes consulted his pocket-watch. "I think if you leave now you will be able to inform Lestrade that you accept his offer before dinner without being invited to stay for it." He said dismissively.

Gregson nodded, and stood. "Thank you, Holmes." For once, the man actually _sounded_ grateful. "Sorry to trouble you." And he was out the door and heading down the stairs.

I shook my head as the man left. "That was odd, Holmes." I said, but my friend was no longer interested.

"Indeed." Was all he said in reply; I could see that he would say nothing else on the matter tonight.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Chapter 2

The following afternoon, I returned to Baker Street after a short walk. Holmes greeted me by shoving a letter into my hands and telling me to pack. We were leaving that evening, and heading for Boston.

Curious and more than a trifle confused by this announcement, I studied the letter before me.

_Mr. Holmes,_

_I have heard of your abilities and seek your assistance. I ask that you come to Boston as soon as possible and meet me at the police station at 2:00 pm upon your arrival. _

_Yours, _

_Detective Jack L. _

_P.S. I would be delighted if you would bring the good Doctor Watson with you._

"Detective Jack L.?" I called as I headed for my room.

"A member of the police force in Boston." My friend shouted back from the other room. "A young man, under a lot of stress, physically and emotionally drained. He wrote this letter in a hurry, but still took time to consider his wording carefully."

"His signature indicates that he is a member of a force, obviously in the city to which he wishes us to come, and the lack of detail suggests he was in a hurry, but what of the rest?" I was packing with all the speed one might expect of a man who has both served in the army and spent many years in the companionship of a man who might at any moment require you to drop what you're doing and accompany him to wherever he might be going.

"I know that he considers his wording carefully because for all his haste and the urgency behind his request, his speech remains courteous and polite, almost formal. Also note the almost casual tone he adopts when asking that you come as well." Holmes had joined me in my room, and nodded his approval as I finished the last of my packing and closed the suitcase.

"And his age?" I asked. Holmes waved the question off.

"Not now, Watson." He said. "We must hurry, if we are to catch our boat."

"You already got the tickets." He nodded as I grabbed my suitcase and we headed down the stairs and out onto the street. A cab was waiting for us.

It was not until we were well on our way that I recalled Gregson's visit yesterday, and their decision to visit the States. I wondered idly if the two events were in anyway connected, but dismissed the notion as ridiculous almost immediately.

Of course it was ridiculous, wasn't it?

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and company do not belong to me.


	3. Chapter 3

Our voyage was rather pleasant, but altogether uneventful and hardly noteworthy. Suffice it to say we reached the city of Boston safely.

We reached the Boston Police Station at roughly ten till two, and found ourselves completely ignored by the men rushing about, as if they were too busy to even bid us good day. Holmes immediately went to studying the people around us, perhaps looking for the man who had written the letter, and his eye was soon drawn to two men who appeared to be equally out of place.

"Watson." He pointed. I followed his gaze, and recognized the men.

"Lestrade?" I gaped. "Gregson? What are they doing here?"

Holmes frowned. "Perhaps the two events are connected after all." He mused. A nod of his head, in the Inspectors' direction, and the two made their way over to stand with us.

"Is everything all right?" Gregson asked sharply, perhaps thinking Holmes had found something out about Lestrade's strange invitation after all.

I smiled reassuringly. "We were asked to look into a case." I informed him. "We received a letter the day after you dropped by."

"Quite a coincidence." Lestrade spoke up absently, his eyes scanning the few men bustling in and out of the foyer. "Something's not right here." Gregson nodded in agreement with this assessment.

"What are we doing here anyway, Lestrade?" He demanded impatiently. The Inspector merely shrugged, then straightened as someone finally noticed us and headed our way.

He wasn't much more than a lad, barely in his twenties. A tall, lanky fellow, the lad had to look up only at Holmes. Bright red hair and intense blue eyes were the most notable features on an otherwise nondescript face. He looked us over with a mixture of wary eagerness and tightly controlled exhaustion.

"Conner, here, at your service." He introduced himself with a bow, and whether that was his first or last name I could not tell. "May I help you gentlemen?"

My friend was the first to reply, of course. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. I am here to consult with a Detective Jack L."

The lad flashed us a broad grin. "Ha!" He exclaimed. "I told them you were real. Jack doesn't just tell tales, or at least doesn't swear on them. Rest assured, if he swears it, it's the truth. The rest of the time, however..." He shrugged. "Anyway, he's out. Went out this morning, when his partner never showed up. Don't know when he'll be back, perhaps you should come back later."

"He made an appointment with us for this time." Holmes said severely.

Conner nodded. "Yes, and he would be here now if it were not of the utmost importance." He assured the impatient detective. "And he truly is appreciative of you four coming all the way out here like this with so little explanation, but he's not going to be back until he's found the man, and who knows when that'll be. I can let him know you called for him and will be back by tomorrow when he gets back."

It seemed this young man was a bit too eager to be rid of us to me, and judging by the way Gregson's eyebrows were furrowed, the Inspector felt the same way.

"Very well." Holmes conceded reluctantly. "But before we leave, perhaps you could be of assistance."

"How so, sir?" Conner replied warily.

"Do you know anything about the difficulty this man Jack wrote us about?" Holmes asked sharply.

Blue eyes widened; the man swallowed nervously. Then he forced a smile. "I don't have a clue." He lied cheerfully. "Must be some personal problem, we aren't having anydifficulties-"

"Conner!" The lad flinched, and uttered an oath under his breath.

"Chief?" He replied, turning to greet the stocky, grey haired man. Hard eyes glinted as he took us in, and Conner was forgotten as the older man attempted a smile that was more of a grimace.

"Gentlemen, may I help you?" He inquired. Again it was Holmes who spoke.

"Yes. I am Sherlock Holmes-" My friend broke off his introduction as the Chief wheeled about to glare at a paling red-head.

"Conner?" There was a dangerous edge to the voice.

Conner gulped. "I just found them here, sir. I didn't call for them."

"No, a detective Jack did." Anger darkened the Chief's face at Holmes' assertion.

"How dare he-" The man cut himself off and tried another smile. "Jackie has some personal problems, Mr. Holmes, and has been a bit paranoid lately. Rest assured that we have no need of your assistance here, and I am deeply sorry for the inconvenience the man has caused you.

Holmes was not the only one of us skeptical of this statement. He cleared his throat. "Nonetheless, I should like to speak with him before we leave."

"That is hardly-!" The Chief's hasty retort was cut off as a man burst into the station, dragging another with him, shouting orders to those nearby. Two men left quickly, in pursuit of some threat, I supposed, and another offered to call for a doctor.

"No need." Came the cool reply, and the man let go of the body he was supporting, letting it drop to the floor with a thud. He then proceeded to stride in our direction.

"Jack." The Chief greeted him coldly.

"Chief Reed." Jack returned. "Detective Linegar is dead." He reported, his face carefully blank. I frowned, for something about the man seemed familiar.

He was on the smallish side, though his bearing was of one who was completely comfortable with his size. He had short dark hair and eyes that were frankly disturbing for some reason I could not quite grasp. He was dressed more shoddily than either Conner or the Chief, and his choice of clothing seemed somehow wrong on him. Furthermore, the slight scar over his left eyebrow, barely noticeable, only worried me further.

"Detective Sherlock Holmes to see you." The Chief said acidly. "You seem to have overstepped your bounds, especially as we are hardly in need of outside assistance."

Jack, as he was called, shot a glance in the direction of the body that was now being seen to in his absence. Placatingly, he spread his hands. "Since they're already here, sir, I don't see that it could do any harm."

"To investigate what?" The Chief demanded. "Your imaginations? You really have gone too far this time, Jackie. There is no problem for your Mr. Holmes-"

I gaped as the young man drew his pistol and leveled it at his superior, eyes flashing, jaw clenched. When he spoke, his words were ground out with barely controlled fury. "No problem? Frederick is dead. This threat took _him_ down. We are rapidly running out of men because you refuse to take this seriously. If you had listened to me when this first started _three months ago_, we might not have lost Frederick, or David, or Joey, or any of the others, and we wouldn't have half trained detectives running around jumping at every little noise."

Chief Reed had gone completely white; no one moved, save for Conner, who had placed a warning hand on Holmes' arm when he would have stepped forward. Holmes, to his credit, had stilled himself. He and I exchanged a glance; every man at the station was afraid to cross this man, even in defense of their superior.

This detective, Jack, pulled back the hammer and an ominous click echoed through the frozen room. I wondered if we were to witness a murder here, and whether we should not do something to stop it in spite of Conner's warning.

"Sir!" Conner cried as Lestrade strode forth towards the detective, his features set, but still did not move, not even to restrain the Inspector.

Lestrade stepped between the detective and Chief Reed and reached for the gun. Jack turned his glare on the Inspector, but made no effort to resist as Lestrade removed the gun from his hand and pocketed it.

We watched in horror and fascination as Lestrade raised his hand and let it rest on the furious detective's shoulder. "Easy, Lad." The Inspector said softly.

The young man galred for another eternity of several seconds, then ducked his head, took a deep breath, and looked back up to meet Lestrade's gaze. After a moment he nodded, and Lestrade removed his hand from the detective's shoulder.

"I don't believe it." Conner whispered, and I suddenly realized I had forgotten to breathe. Holmes, I noticed, looked relieved, at least, for him. Gregson looked about ready to faint, and the members of the force present were staring at Lestrade with incredulity mixed with awe.

Chief Reed regained a little of his color, and favored Jack with a dark look. "You're fired." He snapped, and in response the detective swore and lunged at him.

Lestrade had him down on the ground in a second. "Don't do it, Laddie." He growled, pinning the man's arms behind his back. Jack stilled, and the Inspector looked up at Chief Reed. "The man's just lost his partner, and he's obviously exhausted." The men all seemed to be in varying stages of fatigue around here, I had noticed. "You could be a bit more understanding."

"Sides," Conner spoke up timorously, "we can't really afford to lose him, Chief. Ya know that."

The Chief glared at Conner, then at Jack. "Watch yourself, Jackie." He growled at the man. "Next time I'll throw you out without even thinking twice. That temper of yours is going to cost you one of these days."

"Yes, sir." Jack snapped, and I thought I detected a familiar tinge to his words.

"I don't want to see you here for the rest of the day." Chief Reed continued.

"Yes, sir." Lestrade had relinquished his hold on the man by now, and the two climbed to their feet as the detective replied.

"And get rid of these men. I want them out of the city by tomorrow. I also need you to start deciding on a new partner."

"Conner." The man replied promptly, as if he had been waiting for the opportunity, and headed for the door. "This way, gentlemen, if you please." There was definitely a hint of British coloring the detective's accent.

Conner flushed. "Thank you." He muttered as Jack passed him. "I'll see to Fred." Conner's attention shifted to us. "Pleasure to meet you, sirs." He said, a trifle wistfully, I imagined.

We bid farewell to Conner and followed Jack out the door and into the street.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and company do not belong to me.


	4. Chapter 4

The detective set off down the street without looking back. We followed, somewhat uncertainly, after Lestrade led the way after him.

Gregson fell into step with the other Inspector, and Holmes and I followed a pace behind. Gregson immediately began lecturing Lestrade in hushed whispers over his stupidity back at the station.

"Thanks, by the way." Jack called back, interrupting Gregson's tirade.

"The Chief's right, that temper is going to get you in trouble if you don't control it better." Lestrade replied, disapproval evident in his tone. Gregson shot a questioning glance back our way, and I shrugged. I didn't know what had gotten into the man either.

Jack stopped and spun around to look Lestrade dead in the eye. "You try watching the closest thing you've got to family this side of the Atlantic die in your arms and see how well you keep your own temper." He said coldly, and I feared for the Inspector's safety.

Lestrade sighed. "I'm sorry, lad." The Inspector said softly. "But he wouldn't have wanted you to throw it all away."

The younger man let loose a weary sigh of his own. "I know," he said, and his voice was thick with exasperation as he continued, "I wasn't thinking, obviously; with everything that's been happening lately, this last just pushed me over the edge. Frederick was usually the one to hold me back, then deck me for being an idiot."

I wondered at how freely the detective admitted this in front of four complete strangers, and I wondered at the compassion Lestrade was extending him. In such situations, the Inspector was timid with people he did know; with strangers he came off as almost uncaring.

The young man took a deep breath, let it out, then smiled. Like most everything else about this man, the smile unsettled me. "Well," he said with a lightness that to me seemed a bit forced, "I do apologize for dragging you all over here for apparently nothing." I noticed the British tinge had disappeared from his words. "Poor compensation though it is, at least let me offer you dinner out and a place to stay for the night, and you can be on your way tomorrow after breakfast."

I opened my mouth to speak, and received an elbow to the ribs for my trouble. Gregson, however, voiced my irritation with some indignation.

"You mean that after dragging us away from London and our own work, not to mention across the sea, you're just going to send us packing?"

"Not my call, Inspector. Final authority lies with the Chief on that. He wants you out, you go." He retorted, irritated himself over the matter.

Gregson would have continued the discussion, but Lestrade cut him off.

"You said something about dinner, I believe?" Lestrade asked pointedly. Jack laughed.

"Certainly, my good fellow." I was now certain there was at least some British influence on his speech. "This way, gentlemen."

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and company do not belong to me.


	5. Chapter 5

Dinner was expensive, delicious, and _awkward_. Our guest had insisted, upon noticing my and the Inspectors' discomfort over the obvious elegance of the place, and he and Lestrade had gotten into a fierce argument over it, one I was almost convinced they were enjoying, as we were led to a table.

"As Inspector Gregson pointed out earlier, I did drag the four of you out here for nothing." Jack said dismissively.

"Surely you can't afford-"

"I don't have a family to support." Jack cut Lestrade off. "I work all the time; I don't have a life outside the force. There's no girl, no wife, no family. I have to spend my pay on _something_."

"I didn't come here-" Poor Lestrade couldn't get a word in tonight.

"I _invited _you here. That makes you my guest. Stop being so stubborn." He smiled up at the waiter. "I'm paying." He said, and the waiter nodded. He then proceeded to order, then sat back and waited for us to decide what we wanted. Eventually Lestrade gave in and gave his order; Gregson followed, then Holmes, who probably had little issue with his meal being paid for anyway.

As the waiter turned to me, I hesitated. Jack shook his head and laughed, though not unkindly. "Rest assured, Doctor, I do not make offers that I cannot back up, and I do not doubt that you will have more than earned the meal before you leave."

Thus reassured, however strangely, I proceeded to order. When I finished, the waiter nodded and left us to a slightly uncomfortable silence.

"I do apologize for making you all uncomfortable." Jack finally broke the silence. "It's about the only place in the city where I can be assured of making it through a meal without interruption. The last time I went out with someone I ended up being thrown through a window."

"Should I ask why?" Lestrade inquired dryly, eyebrows raised.

Jack grinned. "I had gotten a little too friendly with the barkeep's wife on my previous visit while fishing for information." If possible, Lestrade's eyebrows went up even further.

"How friendly?" He choked out.

Jack chuckled. "He was a jealous man with a short temper. He'd killed men just for looking at her, though we've never been able to prove it."

When the food arrived, the American detective wasted little time in setting upon his meal, seemingly unaware that the four of us were watching him over our own plates. He ate with fervor, and there was nothing in the man's demeanor to indicate a man who had lost both a partner and close friend just that day.

Finally he paused, and looked from one of us to the other. "I told you I don't have a life outside the force." He said plainly. "I eat when there's food available, I sleep when I get a chance. If I let what happened on the job affect my eating or sleeping habits I would get neither."

"That's not healthy." Lestrade said as he picked up his fork.

"And it's not usually as extreme as it has been lately." Jack countered. "As it is, I had breakfast yesterday morning. Forgive me if I enjoy my meal."

Even Holmes was surprised when Lestrade rolled his eyes and shook his head at the man, and sat staring with his fork paused halfway to his mouth. He recovered, momentarily, and continued with his meal, but I could see that he too found Lestrade's behavior to be quite unusual as of late.

"So," said Gregson after another too long silence, "you did bring us here for a reason."

"Yes." Jack replied, but offered nothing more.

"Perhaps we could still be of assistance." I suggested. He fought back a grin as he shook his head.

"Now that it's out, I can do nothing unless the Chief should miraculously change his mind." Jack replied.

"And you think he will." Holmes commented.

"Nothing is impossible." The man said innocently, and refused to say a word more on the subject.

As awkward as it was, dinner was still drawn out over the course of several hours, with awkward attempts at conversation now and again, and it was beginning to get late in the day. I began to wonder about accommodations for the night, sure that in spite of his offer this young man probably had neither the space nor desire to put us up for the night.

Our host, who had so far seemed in no hurry to leave, looked up and towards the window, and abruptly stood. "I did not realize it was getting so late." He said, and the statement carried an undertone of urgency. "We should be getting on."

We stood, for we had by this point mostly been waiting on him. Perhaps he had not slept in longer than it had been since last he had eaten, for he seemed inclined to close his eyes and lean his head on his hand at various intervals and remain that way until you thought perhaps he had dozed off, then suddenly go back to whatever he had been doing as if nothing had happened. Whatever the cause for his behavior, one had only to look at his eyes to know he was exhausted.

He shot another glance at the window and led us from the table. He paid, and we departed with out a word passing between us.

"You will, of course, stay with me." He said once we were outside. He looked towards the setting sun briefly before setting off down the street. "I would not dream of expecting you to stay in a hotel. No arguments, please. It may not be as luxuriant, but it will certainly be cheaper, _and safer._" This last was added as an undertone, not meant for us, but we heard it all the same, and Gregson shot Holmes and myself a worried glance. Lestrade, on the other hand, didn't seem bothered.

Ahead of us, Jack swore, and began to pick up the pace. My leg was already starting to ache from the amount of walking we had already done today, and I soon found myself lagging behind.

Holmes noticed instantly, of course, and purposefully slowed his own pace. I reminded myself to be grateful, and managed a terse smile at the man. Then I became aware that Gregson, too, had slowed down. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

It was Lestrade who stopped our host. "If you are in such a hurry, perhaps it would be best to call a cab." He suggested. Jack stopped, looked back at me almost apologetically, and shook his head.

"I would prefer to walk." Was all he said, though, before he resumed his pace. Holmes shot an evil look at the man's back and would have argued with him had Lestrade not sighed and continued following the detective.

"It's all right, Holmes." I assured the man. "I'm sure we'll be there soon."

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and company do not belong to me.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's note: Short chapter, I know. I always feel guilty for shorter chapters because I know when I start reading something, and then suddenly it ends, it's always annoying. So I may just go ahead and post the next chapter today as well, unless you guys _prefer _to wait another day between posts.

* * *

I all but collapsed into the chair gratefully, thankful at last to have reached our destination. I was only dimly aware that our host had almost immediately stepped back out, or that Gregson was hovering over me, or that Holmes and Lestrade were having a muted argument by the window.

"I'm fine, just tired." I assured Gregson. "What is the matter with them?" I nodded, and Gregson hesitated for about a second.

"I think Holmes is rather displeased that Lestrade sided with this Jack fellow rather than us over the cab." He admitted.

"It's not that big of a deal." I grumbled, rubbing my thigh absently.

"For God's sake, get away from the window!" Our host had returned, it seemed, and was now staring at Lestrade in near terror. Lestrade stepped away obligingly, though he too seemed confused, and Jack relaxed and instantly tried to sink back into the role of host.

It was Lestrade who interrupted, putting a hand once again on the young man's shoulder. "What's this all about, Laddie?" He asked. "Don't you think you'd better tell us now?"

The man shook his head. "In the morning." He said, his tone almost pleading. "I'll tell you everything you want to know tomorrow, I give you my word."

Lestrade studied the man a moment longer before nodding. "All right, son." He said. "You're completely exhausted; we'll give you that."

The Inspector received another glare from Holmes for that, but the young man promptly managed to find us all places to retire for the night, and I personally was too tired to argue, even as I was offered the only actual bed.

Lestrade was given the cot, Gregson the couch, and Holmes the arm-chair; I had no idea where Jack himself would sleep, but didn't really care at that point. I was asleep in seconds, barely even catching the whispered apology from Jack for his behavior on the street earlier.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and company do not belong to me.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: I went ahead and posted this one too, since it's another short one. I suppose I could have put them together, but it didn't feel right.

* * *

"Doctor." Someone was shaking me, Holmes perhaps. I groaned and batted his hands away. "Doctor Watson!" The hissed entreaty had not come from my friend. I opened my eyes and nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of Lestrade's eyes mere inches from mine.

"What the devil?" I yelped, and eyes blinked and backed away. I sat up to scowl at the man, then paused, completely confused. It was not Lestrade that stood before me, but Jack.

"Sorry." He apologized curtly. "I did not mean to frighten you. Where did the others go?"

"Go?" I echoed blearily, still not entirely awake.

"Yes, go." The man replied impatiently. "They were here when I stepped out, now they are gone." I yawned, and he sighed. "You were asleep. Of course you would not know. My apologies." He frowned, and paced a few steps across the room. Then he turned back to face me. "We must find them." He said, and it struck me that the man was extremely worried about my companions.

"Holmes is capable of defending himself." I assured the detective. "And the Inspectors have been out on the streets at night before."

"Not here." Jack replied tersely. "They need to be found, and quickly. I hesitate to cause you more discomfort, however-"

"If you truly believe they are in danger," I interrupted him, "I would not be left behind."

He offered me a grateful, if still worried smile, and left me alone. I was up and ready within a few minutes, in spite of my aching leg, and quickly joined Jack in the other room.

He nodded briskly in approval of my haste, and we were off.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and company do not belong to me.


	8. Chapter 8

My companion led me rapidly through the dark streets, staying deep in the shadows when he could, moving even more quickly when he could not. I sensed the man's fear as we set out, and started to ask what he was so afraid of.

"In the morning, Doctor." He reminded me in a whisper, as if sensing what I was going to ask.

The detective dragged me into building after building, most of them disreputable and all of them crowded. He would inevitably be approached by some devious looking character, have a brief conversation, and promptly lead me back out.

I, for my part, would scan the room for the faces of my companions, though it had not done me any good as of yet.

The hours went on, and I began to worry myself, the younger man's anxiety starting to affect me. I wondered what sort of trouble my companions might be risking, and was growing angry that Jack did not see fit to explain to anyone the danger we seemed to have brought upon ourselves by attempting to assist the police force here.

Three figures entered the street ahead of us; Jack looked up and let out a sigh of relief. Then his features contorted, and the detective let out a shout and rushed towards them, going for his gun in the same instant.

A shot rang out; Lestrade was on the ground. Holmes was down beside him, and Gregson was going for his own gun and looking for whatever threat Jack had seen.

Jack was kneeling by Lestrade as I caught up. "Forget him!" He barked at Gregson, before turning to Lestrade, his face white.

"I'm all right, lad." Lestrade gasped before the younger man could ask. "Mr. Holmes saw your man and shoved me out of the way. I just had the wind knocked out of me, is all."

Jack let out an explosive breath and stood, offering the Inspector his hand. Lestrade accepted it, and let Jack help him up, still struggling to regain his breath.

"Quick thinking, Mr. Holmes." Jack commented as he looked Lestrade over in spite of his protests that he was fine. "I owe you for that."

Gregson seemed as puzzled over the man's words as I was, but had no time to comment as Jack, satisfied as to Lestrade's health, leveled a glare at the man. "What the devil do you think you're doing?" He demanded, his words slipping once more into a more British accent. "You could've been killed! Do you not realize-"

"We don't know _anything_ about it, remember?" Gregson interrupted angrily. "You refused to tell us one bloody thing before tomorrow. You might have at least mentioned our lives were in danger."

Jack turned his glare on Gregson. "I didn't think the three of you'd be sneaking around the city streets in the night." He snapped.

"Laddie-" Lestrade reproved gently, and Jack sighed.

"All right, come on. No one got hurt, at least." The young man spread his hands in surrender. Then he met Lestrade's eye. "But I beg you, do not go out after dark again."

"Of course." Lestrade agreed readily, without even bothering to ask why.

Gregson fumed all the way back to Jack's place. As Holmes had withdrawn into himself and would be unappreciative of my intrusion, I walked with the Inspector, silently letting him know he was not the only one growing tired of the American. Lestrade kept pace with the detective, matching his pace step for step.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and company do not belong to me.


	9. Chapter 9

"What on earth were you doing out at this time of night, anyway?" The detective demanded as we reentered his lodgings. Lestrade barely managed to stifle a chuckle, and Gregson shot him a glare.

Holmes, however merely raised an eyebrow. "Surely you did not think I would be satisfied with what little information you had offered about yourself." He replied easily. "I went out to learn about you, and the Inspectors were good enough to accompany me.

I didn't ask why my friend had opted not to include me in this excursion; he surely had his reasons. As if he could read my mind, Holmes shot me an apologetic glance. "Given the hour and the unease present at the station, I felt it might be prudent to leave you behind, Watson."

"Of course." I nodded, accepting the statement for the apology it was.

"So what did you find out?" Jack asked, amusement spreading across hi features. I had expected the man to be at least mildly irritated by Holmes announcement, but was somewhat relieved that he was not.

Holmes was silent for a moment, considering. "Reports of you are somewhat varied and at times contradictory." He offered at last. "You have a wife. You also have a mistress. You are inclined to drunkenness-"

"I do drugs; I can't walk into a bar without getting into a brawl." Jack offered. "I was…_close_…to my former partner. I am a thief and a liar. Did you find anything that was actually true?"

Holmes frowned. "You seem to have an interest in keeping the actual facts obscured in rumor." He replied. "Concerning fact, I have determined that you take your job very seriously, that you are respected and feared by those you work with, and…" Here Holmes trailed off, and I knew there was something more, something he did not feel he should mention.

That made me curious, and I shot Holmes a questioning glance. He shook his head; he would not reveal anything more about the person before us.

My heart sank as I realized Holmes had made a decision to trust the man, and would wait until the morning for his explanations. There was still something about him that bothered me, however, something he was keeping back. It was entirely possible Holmes had already figured it out, and that it was nothing, but I was still reluctant to trust the man myself.

I would keep an eye on this detective.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and company do not belong to me.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's note: Updating spree! I don't think anyone will mind too much, though. And yes, we are getting close to the actual reason behind the four's presence in Boston.

* * *

I bolted upright in alarm as someone burst into the room, my hand automatically reaching for the revolver I had placed on the desk beside me. I relaxed slightly as I recognized Conner standing there uncertainly, slightly to the left of the open door, hands above his head.

"Sorry?" He offered, looking both amused and wary. "I was looking for Jack." He explained.

"Do you make it a habit to burst in on him while he's sleeping?" I inquired. "I would think he would be quicker to shoot than I."

The lad chuckled, and relaxed. "Lately, yes, and mercifully he hasn't shot me, not since that first time."

"He actually shot you?" I asked. "And you're still alive?"

Conner shrugged. "He was half dead himself at the time, and aiming with a sprained wrist." His expression grew serious. "Where is he?"

"Did you miss the bodies in the living room?" Someone interrupted groggily.

Conner winced. "I wondered what I'd tripped over." He retorted. "Chief wants you. Now. He says bring the Brits."

Jack looked both triumphant and resigned at the same time. "Who was it?"

Conner grimaced. "Jerry."

Jack sighed. "Chief's son-in-law." He explained, for my benefit. "Let's go, gentleman! An explanation will soon be forthcoming!" He shouted into the other room. "Five minutes!" He grinned at Conner, who eyed him warily.

"Your mood swings frighten me, Jack." The red-head said solemnly.

Jack laughed. "Good. That's one of the reasons I picked you, you know. Frederick always said I needed someone who wasn't afraid to speak his mind."

"I'll let you know when you're being an idiot." Conner promised. "We need to get a move on." He said after a moment.

Jack nodded. "All right, let's go. Coming, Doctor?"

Holmes and the Inspectors joined us in the living room. Holmes looked as if he had been waiting for us for some time, and Lestrade looked rushed but was ready. Gregson was still trying to look presentable, and grumbled as we swept out of the room.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and company do not belong to me.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's note: We're dealing with some pretty brutal murders here, so be forewarned of violence coming up and whatnot. Just letting you know.

* * *

"The body has already been moved?" Holmes was indignant as we entered the station.

"Chief's orders." Conner explained in an undertone. "He doesn't want this getting out."

That explained why Jack had shown up yesterday dragging his partner's body with him, at least. Holmes glared at the red-headed young man. "How am I supposed to help-"

"I can show you the crime scene later, if you wish." Conner said quickly. "And the other scenes as well."

"Very well." Holmes agreed, slightly mollified. Conner led the way to an examination room containing the late son-in-law of Chief Reed.

The Chief met us there, and the three members of the Boston police force left us to begin a muted conversation as Holmes at once proceeded to examine the corpse.

Inspectors Lestrade and Gregson were content to stand by the door and out of Holmes' way, but I moved forward to examine the corpse myself.

He was young, far too young. Still open eyes were fixed in terror upon some unknown horror. Several slashes marred the lad's face, and there were more of such marks on his arms and torso. The body was badly bruised as well, with several cracked ribs, and one of the knees had been broken, while the other had been shattered by a bullet. There were also marks to suggest that the victim had been gagged.

I shook my head, appalled at such cruelty. That someone would do such harm to such a young man, or to any human, amazed and sickened me. My attention shifted to Lestrade as he and Gregson exchanged tightly controlled glances of revulsion, and a thought hit me.

This was what Jack had been afraid of. This was why the man had gone after my companions in the night. I paled as I considered the near attack on Lestrade. Had he escaped a similar fate last night?

"They shoot the victim first." Conner had come up behind me and spoke quietly. "They can't get away that way. Then they gag them, so they can't cry out and attract attention, and break the other knee. Then they beat them half senseless, slice them up, and leave them to bleed to death.

I tried to keep the horror out of my voice as I asked. "How do you know this?"

Conner shivered, and looked over at the body with haunted eyes. "I witnessed the second. They wanted us at the Station to know exactly what happened and why." He closed his eyes against the memory.

Hesitantly I reached out to reassure the lad. A shudder ran through his frame as I laid a hand on his arm, and I wondered if he were not close to losing his composure entirely.

"And they just let you go?" Holmes asked, stepping back from the victim, his scrutiny complete.

Conner swallowed. "I wasn't a detective, then. They weren't after me."

Jack joined the conversation. "We found him with the body the next morning, gagged and bound hand and foot to the corpse." Conner shivered again. "They left him alive to tell of the deed."

"Only detectives are being targeted?" Holmes inquired. Chief Reed nodded.

"They said they would kill every last detective on the force." Conner clarified.

"You keep saying 'they.' There was more than one man involved in the murder?" Holmes was finally on the case, firing questions at those members of the Boston force present.

"Three men. One to keep a lookout, one to hold the victim, and one to carry out the attack. All three wore dark clothing, all three had their faces covered. One was tall, though; I had to look up at him even when standing. He might have been taller than you, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes frowned. "Perhaps you should tell me what happened from the beginning, Mr. Conner."

"Just Conner." The red-head corrected. "I filed a report; you might find that more exact."

"Perhaps after your story, Conner." My friend replied. "For now, tell me exactly what happened, as best as you can remember."

Conner nodded and took a steadying breath before launching into the tale.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and company do not belong to me.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's note: More violence. BE WARNED! Conner's POV.

* * *

I was out on patrol that night, and Joey, Detective Joseph, had stopped to ask for some assistance. He was going into one of the bars to ask a suspect some questions, and knew better than to go in alone.

I asked him, as we walked, if they had found out who had killed David. It had been a gruesome sight, and the brutality had made us all wary. No one was comfortable with the thought of the man who had killed the detective still free and out on the streets.

Joey shook his head. "We still don't have a clue." He ran a hand nervously through thick strands of blonde hair before continuing. "Even Jack's at a loss for once, and not for lack of action. He and Fred have been all over the city looking for information, and so far have found nothing." He fell silent, and for a few minutes we simply walked along.

A gunshot rang out; Joey let out a cry of pain and fell to the ground. I knelt beside him on the street where he was curled up, moaning, and in a second I saw why.

I fought back a wave of nausea when I caught a glimpse of what was left of his knee. I tried to lie, and tell him it would be all right, but he was staring past me as I spoke.

I froze as suddenly I felt something hard pressed into the small of my back. I don't know why I didn't hear them approach. "Stand up, nice and easy." The command was whispered into my ear. I started to turn, and the gun barrel pressed harder into my back. I froze once more as I heard a click.

"Don't try anything stupid. Into the alley, now." I had no choice but to do as I had been told. Behind me, I heard Joey groan.

My hands were tied behind my back, and my ankles together. I was gagged and set against the side of one of the buildings to witness what was to come.

They had dragged Joey into the alley as well, and one man stood as lookout while the taller gagged the detective and pulled him upright in front of the third.

A foot lashed out; I saw Joey go white and start to collapse as a sickening crack cut through the silence. If one of the men had not been holding him up, he would have fallen.

I watched helplessly as they beat him. Again and again he would have fallen and was dragged back up. After they grew tired of this, they pulled out a large knife.

They cut him up, and finally let him fall. They stood there and laughed as he tried to move, tried to get the gag loose so he could cry out, anything. When he finally stopped moving, they turned their attention to me.

I thought for sure I was dead as well, but one of them spoke.

"You saw what happened here tonight. Tell your Chief. Tell the entire force. Tell them that these two were just the beginning, that before we're through every detective in this town will have gone the same way."

They loosened the ropes, then, and started to drag me towards the body of poor Joey. I started to struggle, to try to get free, and received a blow to the head from the butt of a gun for my troubles, and everything went black.

I woke up sometime later still gagged, and discovered to my horror that I had been tied to what was by now a corpse and left in the alley.

They had been thorough in binding me; I could barely move, let alone loosen the ropes enough to get free.

Fred, Detective Frederick, Jack's partner, found me the next morning, several hours later.

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and company do not belong to me.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's note: Back to Watson's POV

* * *

Conner was staring at the most recent victim in this horrifying series of muders as he finished speaking, hands shoved into his pockets to hide their shaking.

"David was found three months ago." Jack supplied as Conner fell silent.

"Joey was a week later. My partner and I suggested then that we send for your help, gentlemen, but the Chief was dead set against it. We lost others: one two weeks after Joey, another a week after that, all in the same way. We warned people not to go out after dark, under any circumstances, since that was when these murders were being acted out.

"For about three weeks we lost no one else, then Scott was found dead in a cab, killed in broad daylight. Witnesses saw him get in, and when he didn't get out at his destination, the driver stopped to check on him and found his body." Jack turned to look at me as he continued. "That was why I didn't want to take a cab last night, Doctor, and I apologize for the pain it caused you."

"Entirely understandable." I offered. The man nodded and went on.

"We've lost a total of eight men now, including this one." He gestured towards the latest victim. "And we haven't been able to find out a single bloody thing as to who's doing it or why."

"So you called for _us_." Lestrade finally joined the conversation. I had been wondering why he had been quiet so far, given his recent talkative manner concerning the detective. "The four of us. Without the approval, or knowledge, of your superior."

"Chief Reed here," here Jack shot the man a glare, "did not take Conner's account of the events as seriously as I did, suggesting that he was traumatized and therefore unable to relate the affair reliably."

"He may very well _have_ been traumatized." I suggested reasonably, for the young man still seemed deeply troubled over the incident, though he hid it well.

Conner flushed, and Jack glanced at him briefly before turning to me. "Oh, it's likely he was, but that doesn't mean his report was worthless. He gave a more exact report than anyone else in this brawl the boys got called on to settle in one of the bars last year, and he was the worst injured."

"Report first, then pass out, Jack." Conner retorted. I wasn't certain if the lad was being sarcastic or not.

The detective rolled his eyes. "Anyway, even if the Chief had taken it seriously, he never does like to ask for help."

The thought it prudent, it seemed, not to argue with the detective, and had kept his mouth closed through all this. I was surprised at the man's fortitude.

"Well," Holmes said after a moment, "we are here now, and we shall certainly do what we can to help."

Jack looked relieved, and for the first time since we had met him allowed himself to relax a bit. "Thank you." He said earnestly, and he was not just speaking to Holmes. He had called all four of us here, and I suspected he might need every bit of assistance we could offer.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and company do not belong to me. I don't know if I actually need this or not. I've been told that I don't, but better safe then sorry. They shall continue.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's note: A longer chapter, and things are really starting to take off.

* * *

We spent the rest of the day at the station, combing through reports on the last seven victims, interviewing the remaining detectives, and looking for clues as to who might have a strong enough motive to commit such acts. A fit of energy had taken Holmes, and he tore through the station, leaving chaos in his wake.

I studied the reports from all the victims, paying careful attention to even the most seemingly trivial points, knowing Holmes would want a full report later this evening.

The Inspectors were interviewing the remaining detectives, looking for who knew what, though we all knew Holmes would end up speaking to them all again before the case was solved.

Holmes himself had taken Conner and Jack and had started going through the force's files, looking through anything and everything for some clue as to a motive. I felt a pang of pity for those who would be left to clean up after the man.

It was late when I finished the reports, and I was only too glad to at long last put them away. The details, of course, stayed present in my mind, unwilling to be set aside until I could report to Holmes.

All the victims had been killed in the exact same way as the last, and the examinations made corresponded with Conner's story of how the injuries had come about. I shuddered to think that Lestrade had so narrowly escaped that same fate last night.

But why Lestrade? There had been something off about his behavior since we had gotten here, and there seemed to be something going on between him and Jack. Something was not right there, I was sure. Lestrade was hiding something, something that may or may not have anything to do with this case, but that certainly had something to do with the young American.

I did not, however, get the chance to voice my concerns until that evening. Holmes, Lestrade, Gregson and I had gone out for dinner both at the insistence and through the generosity of Jack. Gregson and I were once again reluctant to accept such an offer, but Holmes merely shrugged it off and Lestrade declared that if the lad were willing to pay for it, he wasn't going to argue with the fool.

Jack waved us off, and promised to meet us back at his home later in the evening. I paused, letting the Inspectors go on ahead, with half the notion to remind the young man be sure he got back before dark whether or not Holmes' mess was taken care of, but stopped as I realized the detective had caught hold of my friend's sleeve.

"Keep an eye out for him, won't you?" Jack requested, and my friend nodded.

"You have my word." He returned solemnly. In a second he had caught up with me, and offered a distracted smile in greeting. "Ready, Watson?"

"Just waiting for you." I retorted. Holmes laughed, and we moved to catch up with the Inspectors.

Dinner was more of a council meeting than a meal, but there was, thankfully, still good food involved. Lestrade and Gregson faithfully reported the results of the interviews, and patiently allowed Holmes to pick each interview apart and lecture them on the questions they _should have asked_. It seemed that the body back at the station and Conner's tale had made a serious enough impression on the two men that they couldn't be bothered to be properly insulted.

I too, gave my reports, and was able to give as much detail as Holmes required. I was surprised, and rather pleased, when he finally stopped and nodded in satisfaction. "There's hope for you yet, Watson." He pronounced, and stood, putting and end to our meal.

Back at Jack's lodgings Gregson declared that it wasn't dark yet, and that he was going for a walk. Lestrade took a moment to study the window and asked if he might join him. It was with some relief that I watched them leave with a warning from Holmes to be back before dark at all costs.

"Well, Watson, what do you think of it all?" Holmes asked as he settled in the armchair and pulled out his pipe. My friend had commented, on occasion, that I did a remarkable job of summing up even our more complicated cases succinctly.

I set myself down on the couch and took a moment to organize my thoughts. "In the past three months, eight men have been brutally murdered, all of them detectives. We know that members of the Boston force of that rank are being targeted, by the testimony of Conner, and Jack is of the opinion that this testimony, though given under stress, is valid. From what I have seen of the lad so far I am inclined to agree. So someone, or three someones, one being rather tall, desire to eliminate those detectives in the police force. This fact is being hid from the public, and those murdered are being quickly and quietly removed from the crime scenes. Have you gotten a chance to see those yet?"

Holmes shook his head. "I shall do so first thing in the morning. I would appreciate you company, if you do not mind rising early."

"I shall be ready." I assured him, and received a smile in response. "So, have you formed any theories yet?"

"Not yet. It is far too soon for that. It is-"

"Useless to speculate without data." I finished. "I was merely wondering if you had found enough data at the station that a theory had presented itself yet."

Holmes shook his head. "I have a few suggestive facts, nothing more, and I will learn nothing more tonight."

"You don't plan on questioning Jack?" I asked, surprised. I would have expected him to have pounced upon the American detective as soon as he passed through the door.

"Not tonight." Holmes replied mysteriously. "Now. Something has been troubling you, Watson, though you have been rather quiet about it."

I hesitated, but my friend seemed genuinely interested, so I spoke. "It's about Lestrade. There's been something off about him since this whole business started. Maybe I'm imagining things, but I get the feeling he's hiding something, keeping some secret or other."

Holmes' response to this statement was to erupt into a short burst of laughter.

"Lestrade's 'secret,' as you put it, Watson, has no bearing whatsoever on the case, or I should have brought it out into the open earlier."

"Then you know what he's been hiding?" I asked, feeling a bit foolish. Of course Holmes would know.

The detective smiled indulgently. "He has not so much been hiding something as neglecting to mention it, actually." He explained. "Not surprising, knowing Lestrade. He is not inclined to volunteer personal information. But the clues are all there, Watson. See what you can make of them yourself."

I sighed; Holmes was going to tell me nothing in this matter, preferring to treat it as an exercise in deduction.

"Well," I offered, "it seems to have something to do with Detective Jack."

"Good." Holmes nodded. "What else?"

I frowned, thinking. "Lestrade seems to trust him, as if they already knew each other before."

"I agree."

"Jack seemed immensely worried about Lestrade last night." I continued uncertainly. "Further indication that they somehow knew each other, but how? Lestrade's never been to the States before."

"And Jack?" Holmes inquired absently, refilling his pipe.

"He does sometimes seem to have a somewhat British coloring to his speech." I recalled. "It is possible that he has spent some time in England in the past. So they could have met in England, possibly in London." I frowned. "But Lestrade doesn't strike me as the type to befriend young Americans that happen to be visiting London."

"No, I suppose not." My friend chuckled. Lestrade didn't actually make friends well at all; he seemed to have little desire to interact with people when it was not on official Yard business. Sometimes I wondered if he preferred it that way or merely lacked the social skills to change it.

"It would have to have been an extraordinary meeting." I mused.

"You've forgotten the letter." Holmes said reprovingly as I fell into silence.

"What letter?" I demanded. Holmes' reply was to hold up an envelope. I took it from him and opened it; it was the letter we had received in London, asking us to come. I reread it, wondering what I could have missed in its short and vague communication.

I gasped as I reached the end of the letter. Was it even possible?

My revelation was cut short as Conner burst into the room, two confused and alarmed Inspectors on his heels, though what the fool lad was doing running about after dark was beyond me. He, of all people, should have known better.

The lad took a quick look around the room before turning to address Holmes. "Where's Jack?" He demanded.

"We left him at the station." Holmes said calmly, eyeing the nearly panicked young man curiously. A chill ran down my spine.

"Are you daft, being out like this after dark?" Lestrade demanded.

Conner ignored the Inspector, but gestured vaguely in the air with considerable agitation. He was pale, I realized, and out of breath. "Right. And he and I were leaving about the same time, when one of Jack's 'buddies' showed up with a warning that one of the detectives was drunk off his head and raving about how the police force was doomed and not even Sherlock Holmes could do anything about it. So we went to get him out, and made sure he got home, and by then it was getting dark."

The red-head stopped to take a breath of air before continuing. "All of the sudden, he shoved me in one direction and started for the other, saying he'd meet me here."

"And you went?" Lestrade demanded.

"I'm not stupid. You don't argue with Jack when he looks like that." Conner snapped.

Holmes frowned. "And you think he knew something was going to happen, is that it?"

Conner nodded. "Jack and Fred always did have a sort of a sixth sense when it came to trouble. It's kept him alive all these years, but he should have made it back here before me. I had the longer way to go." He hesitated. "And I tried to tell myself I was just nervous and imagining things, but I thought I heard a shot being fired."

"Gregson!" I said sharply, for beside him Lestrade had gone white as a sheet and was swaying unsteadily. Gregson promptly reached out to brace the other Inspector, but the smaller man shook his head and seemed to steady himself, though he was still deathly pale.

_Perhaps it was possible after all _was the thought that crept into the back of my mind as the red-headed lad turned his attention back to Holmes as if to ask the question, "What do we do now?"

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and company do not belong to me. I don't know if I actually need this or not. I've been told that I don't, but better safe then sorry. They shall continue.


	15. Chapter 15

Holmes frowned, thinking quickly. "Watson, Gregson, come with me. We're going to go look for him." Conner opened his mouth, but Holmes shook his head. "You and Lestrade will stay here. It is dangerous out there tonight."

"Besides," I added, before either man could argue, "if he makes it back here he may still be in need of help. Someone needs to be here."

Conner nodded. The lad knew how to take orders, even if he didn't like them. Lestrade scowled, but did not argue.

Holmes, Gregson and I struck out into the night.

We found the place where the two men had separated, and Gregson and I stood back while Holmes examined the ground.

"This is a bad business." Gregson commented, his voice low. "Members of the police being targeted, no clues as to who's involved, and now Jack's disappeared."

"I didn't think you cared for the man." I said, surprised.

"I don't." Gregson replied. "But he and Conner are the best out of the lot down there, and the most willing to work with us. I spent all day dragging information out of reluctant detectives today, remember?" I nodded, and he continued. "Besides, just because I don't like the man doesn't mean I want him to go the same way the others went."

"I wouldn't wish that on anyone." I agreed.

"This way, Watson." Holmes cut the conversation off. He had found a trail. As an afterthought, he beckoned the Inspector as well, and we set off down the street.

It wasn't long before we stopped again. Holmes was kneeling in an instant, and gestured for me to join him. I did, and looked where he was pointing.

"Bloodstains." I confirmed. "Then he _was_ shot."

"And he might be nearby." Holmes said, looking around for alley or dark corner from which a person would be unlikely to be seen in the night.

"There's a trail here." Gregson spoke up. "Look."

We were up and with the Inspector in a moment, and he pointed out the faint trail. "Good work." Holmes noted as he led the way, following this trail.

Gregson grinned when he thought we were both occupied with the trail and would not notice. Praise from Holmes was rare and hard earned, and the man had every right to be pleased.

The trail led across the street, into an alley, and promptly disappeared. Holmes scowled and cast about for some sign or trace of the man, and Gregson groaned.

At least there was no body. That meant that Jack was alive, for now, at least.

Holmes growled at nothing in particular; he was having a hard time finding anything useful. I wondered at a man who could confuse Holmes when he was on the scent even for the slightest amount of time.

I was worried, however. Jack seemed to be losing quite a bit of blood.

Holmes continued to cast about. "He could not have simply vanished into thin air!" He insisted after an hour of searching. He leveled a glare at the end of the trail with considerable irritation.

I looked over the alley, though I did not expect to find anything that Holmes had missed. There were a few trash cans, a few boxes, and some litter along the walls, but little else. It seemed that the man had indeed vanished.

Or someone had found him.

We spent the rest of the night searching, but by morning had found no further sign of the man. I could only hope, as we returned to Lestrade and Conner empty-handed, that there would be no reports of him waiting for us at the station either.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and company do not belong to me. I don't know if I actually need this or not. I've been told that I don't, but better safe then sorry. They shall continue.


	16. Chapter 16

"No new reports." Conner reported to us as we finished up breakfast. "I don't know where Jack is, but if they'd gotten him someone would have found him by now."

He had gone out to the station first thing this morning with the assurance that if Jack were dead, he would have been found by now and the report would have reached the station. The fact that he had not was good news, then.

"Breakfast?" I offered. Holmes, predictably, was not eating, and neither was Lestrade.

"No thanks." Conner declined the offer. "I never was able to act as if nothing else were going on." He said with a shrug. "Jack and Fred could eat while the house was burning down around them, but just the thought always made me feel sick." He caught sight of Lestrade standing by the window then, and sighed.

"Jack'll be all right, Inspector. A little thing like being shot isn't going to stop him." Lestrade turned to look at the detective, and Conner continued. "Jack's tough, and he's been through a lot. I doubt he's ready to give up just yet."

Lestrade managed a weary smile. "Thank you." He said softly, and went back to staring out the window. I wondered at the change in the Inspector; Lestrade seemed to have aged a good twenty years overnight.

Holmes, who had been staring into space as he thought, came back to reality then. "I would like to see the crime scenes today, Conner, and this afternoon I should like for you to suggest to us a place that serves a good beer. The Inspectors are, after all, here on holiday.

Lestrade shot him a look that spoke of murder. Then he caught himself. "Will Gregson and I be accompanying you to the crime scenes, or did you have something else in mind for us?"

"You shall remain here, the both of you, with the blinds closed. You have not, after all, had time to visit with your host since you came." Holmes replied.

Conner looked thoughtful. "Are we keeping Jack's disappearance a secret for now, Holmes?" He asked.

Holmes looked straight at him. "Excellent deduction, Conner. Come along."

The scenes were spread about the city. They had little in common, and it seemed the locations were simply a matter of convenience. The victim had been passing through there, an alley had been close by, and that was all there was to it.

As to the cab, the cabbie was able to tell us little we did not already know. He took great delight in telling his story anyway, and suggested that someone 'must have had it in for the cop.' Holmes nodded, and thanked him for his time.

I hoped Holmes had learned more from the day's excursions than I had.

That evening Holmes dispatched Lestrade and Gregson with Conner's directions and instructions to the effect that both men were to return before nightfall, Lestrade apparently completely drunk, and Gregson completely drunk in fact.

Again Lestrade seemed on the verge of letting Holmes have it, and again he seemed to catch himself. The two Inspectors set out then, while Holmes spent the evening deep in thought, and returned several hours later looking as if they had rather enjoyed themselves.

Lestrade dragged the half-conscious Inspector into the bedroom and returned a few minutes later. "Well, he's drunker than I've ever seen him but once, Mr. Holmes." The man said shortly. "You've accomplished no mean feat there. I assume there's a purpose behind it."

"Indeed there is." Holmes replied. "I take it the good Inspector will not likely be up to much tomorrow?"

"You could say that." Came the taciturn reply.

"And those who saw the two of you believed that you were as drunk as he?" Holmes inquired. Lestrade gave a curt nod. "Then tomorrow Inspectors Gregson and Lestrade will have enjoyed themselves a little too much and need to spend the better part of the day recovering."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "And in the meantime?" He asked.

"In the meantime, Watson, Conner, Jack, and I will continue investigations." Holmes replied, and Lestrade stared at him.

Conner looked confused. "But Jack – oh. You want Lestrade to dress up like Jack." He said. "I know they look somewhat alike, Holmes, but do you really think that's going to work?"

"It will have to, if we are to find the murderers." Holmes replied.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and company do not belong to me. I don't know if I actually need this or not. I've been told that I don't, but better safe then sorry. They shall continue.


	17. Chapter 17

I stared in surprise at the man in front of me. Before my very eyes he had gone from Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard to Detective Jack of the Boston Police. It was almost unbelievable, and only served to further confirm my suspicions regarding the two men.

"Impressive." I conceded. "What about his accent?"

"No problem." Lestrade replied, and Conner did a double take as the Inspector's native British took on a slight drawl. "Try as he might, Jackie's London upbringing always shows through when he's upset, and between the stress and fatigue he's been fighting off lately, it's a wonder it hasn't shown up any more than it has lately."

"That's pretty good." Conner said with a chuckle. "I almost believe it myself."

"I would hope _so_." Lestrade retorted. "So, what's the plan, Holmes?"

"There are a few people I'd like to talk to, but first you and Conner need to make an appearance at the station." Holmes replied, apparently not at all surprised by Lestrade's excellent impersonation.

* * *

Lestrade and Conner entered the station slightly ahead of us and were immediately accosted.

"No more deaths last night, thank God." The detective said in greeting. "I probably owe you for that."

Lestrade shrugged and spoke before Conner had to do so for him. "You know your chances of surviving this do not improve when you start running around in a drunken stupor after dark. But if you want to thank us, you can refrain from giving them a chance at you in the future."

Carson flushed, and nodded. "Of course, Jack, I just-"

"It's getting to everyone, Carson. But don't give up. We'll find them. Just have faith."

"Right." The man nodded, and with another thank you left to see to his work.

"Brilliant." Conner muttered when we were alone again. "I wasn't expecting that to go half as well."

Lestrade didn't return Conner's smile. "I believe we have work to do." He said tersely.

After reporting to the Chief that we had nothing new to report, and the reassurance that Lestrade was convincing enough that the Chief proceeded to chew him and Conner out for going after Carson last night, Holmes led us back out into the city.

* * *

"You're being stared at." I informed Lestrade over lunch. He looked up from the meal he was forcing himself to eat, and I was grateful that his role as the American detective necessitated that he eat _something_, for I doubted very much that he would have otherwise.

"That's Thomas Price." Conner muttered under his breath. "Worked on the force, till about six months ago. He was dismissed shortly before he was due to be made detective after allowing two criminals to escape custody; he insisted they were innocent. Lost his job, and not long after his wife died in childbirth." He sighed. "Terrible affair, that was."

He looked up and waved at the man in question, who in turn stood and made to join us.

"Heard you got promoted, Red." Price said as he joined us. It seemed he held no grudge against either of the two men he thought he was addressing. "You're looking well, Jack."

"Better than some." Jack replied. "How are you managing, Thomas?"

Prince shrugged. "Manage is the word, not much more to say about it." He confessed. "I don't know if I'll ever get used to it, you know?"

Lestrade seemed to be channeling the missing man today. He himself would never have been so personal. "Well, she wouldn't want you to give up, Thomas. You know that."

"I know." Came the reply, and Prince straightened up. "Good to see you again, Jack. Tell the boys I said hello. That is, if the Chief won't fire you for it."

"Do you think it would matter?" Lestrade asked, and received a grin and a rather jarring slap on the back in reply before the man lumbered off.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes not does not belong to me.


	18. Chapter 18

"Price bothering you again, sweetheart?" A rather pretty young woman with silky brown curls asked as she settled unceremoniously on Lestrade's lap.

I nearly choked, and Conner was suddenly _very_ busy with the meal he had not been eating. Lestrade himself scowled and turned bright red.

"What do you think your doing?" Everyone at the table tensed as Lestrade continued. "Get off me, woman!"

The woman only laughed. "Still married to your work, Jack? I won't wait around forever, you know."

"Jack's not interested, Clara." Conner spoke up at last. "His loss, if you ask me. When you get tired of waiting for him, give me a call." He grinned at her, and she smiled back.

"How come you're hanging out with Jackie, Conner? Where's Fred got to?"

"Dead." Conner said bluntly. "Got killed working on a case."

"And his ill luck is your good fortune, I suppose."

"If by that you're asking if I'm Jack's new partner, the answer is yes." Conner said. "You're so callous, Clara."

"Seen a lot of cops come and go, Conner. They all go that way eventually, and they're lucky if it actually means something when they do." Clara replied. "Too often it's a waste, and too often life just goes on in their absence. But I've got work, and as much as I like chatting with you two, it won't do itself. Keep your noses clean, boys." She hopped up, kissed Lestrade on the forehead, and was off across the room.

Conner promptly burst into a fit of silent laughter, and Lestrade glared at him.

"Is there something I should know?" He asked darkly.

Conner grinned. "She's been infatuated with Jack ever since he rescued her from the clutches of an abusive older brother. " He said. "Jack _is_ married to the job."

"And is she always so – ahem – friendly?" I asked, and received a scowl from the Inspector for my query.

"No." Conner replied solemnly. "Usually she's worse, but you and Holmes were here, so-" The grin returned full force, and the red head gave in to another bout of laughter.

I grinned, and Lestrade busied himself with his plate, intent on ignoring the both of us.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes not does not belong to me.


	19. Chapter 19

Author's note: Yes, it is short. No, there is little explanation. But how often does Sherlock Holmes reveal the case before it's solved?

* * *

By that evening, Holmes had apparently learned all he needed to know, and had formulated a plan.

"This is dangerous." I pointed out. "He could very well be killed."

"If it puts a stop to these murders, it's worth the risk." Lestrade assured us.

Conner looked doubtful. "You could also suffer permanent injury." He added to my warning.

Gregson scowled. He was up, though not very pleasant about it. He had come staggering into the sitting room upon our return, demanding, in a softer voice than I had ever heard him use, to know what he had missed. "Danger is part of our job, Conner, just as much as it is part of yours." He eyed Lestrade, still dressed as Detective Jack. "Be careful out there, Giles." It was one of the few times I had ever heard the man address his colleague as such.

Lestrade nodded. "Always." He assured the other Inspector, and turned and took his leave.

Holmes watched from the window to see Lestrade would reach the street, and he too left, trailing 'Detective Jack.' Five minutes after Holmes' departure, the rest of headed for the street.

"You sure you're up to this?" Conner asked Gregson, concern written on features. Gregson merely scowled again.

"I'm fine."

"You had quite a bit to drink last night."

"That was last night."

"Still, you look-"

"Like my head is throbbing? I always get that anyway when I'm working with Holmes, so I'm used to it." Gregson snapped, and Conner didn't press the issue.

I didn't contribute, if Lestrade's life were at stake, Gregson wouldn't risk ruining Holmes' plan just to satisfy his pride, and neither would Lestrade. If they both felt he was fine to be present, then he was.

Of course, this plan had enough chances of going south on its own. So many things could easily go wrong. As we reached the street, I desperately hoped Holmes' plan went off without any unforeseen difficulty.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes not does not belong to me.


	20. Chapter 20

Author's note: Two more chapters after this one. I'm kind of sorry to be coming to an end in this.

* * *

We followed the trail Holmes left for us, listening for the alarm. Lestrade had his police whistle; it seemed he had been carrying it all this time out of habit. Holmes now carried Gregson's in case Lestrade did not have time to sound his own.

"You get in the habit of always having them with you." Gregson had said earlier as he admitted that he too was carrying his. "You end up needing it most when you don't have it. It never occurred to me not to bring it." We were grateful for that fact now, as we waited for something to happen. It would give Lestrade a better chance of survival in this risky plan.

Conner stiffened, a whistle had sounded. The three of us took off at a run, knowing every second could mean the difference between life and death for the Inspector.

Holmes was doing his best to aide Lestrade as we arrived and joined the fight. In just a few minutes we had subdued two of the three men. The last, the tallest of the lot, had seized his opportunity and caught Lestrade off guard. He now raised a nasty looking knife to the Inspector's throat.

We froze; Lestrade paled. The man laughed and began to back away, taking the Inspector with him. Lestrade glared at us. "He's going to kill me anyway." His eye's caught Gregson's. "Come on, Tobias, you've seen his type before. You know I'm-"

The knife pressed harder. "Shut up." His captor spat. "Or you'll die that much sooner. They don't want to believe it, so they won't do anything to put you at risk, Jack."

"Maybe not." Lestrade agreed mildly. "But either way, I think you have a problem. I'm not Jack."

"_I _am." Lestrade was the only one who _didn't _seem surprised when the younger man stepped out of the shadows. He was limping and pale as he stepped forward, but his hand was steady with his gun. "And if you so much as scratch him, I'll kill you myself. Let him go, Thomas."

Now I recognized the man before us as the former police officer we had seen at lunch. He swallowed nervously. "You are in no position to give orders, Jack." He said, no longer quite as confident. "I _will_ slit his throat."

Jack's gaze wandered to Lestrade. "He's an inspector. He's fully prepared to die in the line of duty."

"Fine then." The man replied, and everything seemed to happen at once.

"No!" Jack let loose a wild cry. He fired in the same breath, aiming for the man's other arm. Lestrade's own hands jerked upward as Price's twitched; Price shoved the Inspector away and turned to run as he grabbed at his arm.

Another shot rang out, and Price fell.

Jack was standing over him in an instant, gun aimed at the man's forehead. "Why, Thomas?"

"Because they killed my wife! My son!" The man screamed back. "Ruined my career. I lost _everything_!"

"You allowed two apprehended murderers to escape." Jack replied. "You should have gone to jail yourself. As to your wife, we were all devastated to hear it. Every man there would have done what they could if you had only asked. You know that."

"They would have been glad to see me suffer." The man spat back. "So I decided I'd get my revenge, Jackie, on those-"

Jack cut him off. "I've heard enough. You killed eight good men, Thomas." The man's voice was suddenly deadly calm. "You killed my partner. You tried to kill me." He pulled the hammer back with a click. "You're crazy with grief, and I could probably have understood, but when you went after my father, you signed your death warrant."

Gregson looked stricken. Conner looked up urgently. "Jack-"

The American detective swore and lowered his gun. "Shut up, Conner." He growled, then, "Do you have your cuffs?"

Conner tossed them to the other man wordlessly. Jack caught them, and leaned forward to restrain the man lying on the ground.

There was a sudden flash of steel, and Jack groaned and staggered. The villain lurched to his feet in spite of two bullet wounds and again attempted to run. A third gunshot cut through the night, and the man fell to the ground unmoving.

Lestrade was on his feet, and somehow still alive. He was standing over the man in an instant, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he should not have been alive at the moment. "Bad idea, Boy-O." He said, his voice hard. I watched in horror as the Inspector emptied another bullet into the man on the ground.

Gregson darted forward then, to restrain Lestrade. "Get a grip, Inspector." He snapped as Lestrade moved to shake him off.

"It's all right, Da." Jack called out weakly, and I moved quickly to his side. He had been stabbed in the side, and was losing blood quickly. "I'm not dead yet. " A pause, and the man tried to sit up. I eased him back down as he asked. "But how the devil are _you_ still alive?"

Lestrade managed a shrug, then swayed, and Gregson had to catch the Inspector to keep him from hitting the ground as he fainted.

Jack tried to shove me off. "I'm not the one who nearly had his throat cut." He snarled at me. "I'll manage."

"Try to control the bleeding." I told him, and darted over to Lestrade.

Conner and Holmes were attending to the criminal. "He's dead." Conner muttered. "We'll call it self defense, if it comes to it, but I doubt anyone will look too much into the death of a cop killer."

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes not does not belong to me.


	21. Chapter 21

"So Price was the man responsible?" I asked as I finished stitching up Jack's side. "He seemed so friendly."

"He was also surprised to see 'Jack' up and about the day after he was supposed to have been shot, though he recovered quickly." Holmes replied. "He was due for a promotion to detective before he was dismissed. When his wife and child died shortly after its birth, the grief stricken man blamed the police force, specifically the detectives, and swore to get revenge."

"The two men that were helping him were the men he help escape." Conner put in as he entered the room. "Price is being taken care of. Nobody so much as blinked when I announced that he was dead. Not even the chief seemed too concerned." His attention wandered to Jack. "So what happened the other night? I thought I heard a gunshot."

"You did." Jack bit out as I finished stitching his wound and began bandaging it. "Missed my knee and caught me in the calf. I managed to get up, and keep moving, at least for a while."

"We found your trail. But we lost you in the alley. Not even Holmes could find you." Gregson informed him from where he was keeping an eye on Lestrade.

"I stopped in the alley to try and control the bleeding." Jack supplied. "Crawled through an open window into an abandoned house a bit further down and passed out."

"Ah." Holmes said, and I went to check on Lestrade's arm. The Inspector had by some miracle managed to move his arm fast enough to catch most of the damage from the knife, and the skin on his throat had been only slightly nicked. He had been very lucky. I had already sewn up the ugly gash in his arm, but infection was something I would have to look out for in both Lestrades' injuries.

"You were headed here when you heard the whistle." Lestrade addressed his son.

Jack nodded. "I thought I would be too late. I nearly was anyway. Idiot."

Lestrade's eyebrows went up. "I don't tolerate disrespect, young man. If you need some manners knocked into you, I can still do it."

"Yes, sir." Jack retorted. "Sorry, sir."

Conner frowned. "So why all the secrecy about you two being family, Jack?" He seemed troubled by the thought, but he was not the only one.

The question, however, promptly elicited bursts of laughter from the two men, though Jack's broke off with a groan.

"No secret." Jack managed. "I just didn't think to mention it, and the Inspector would rather die than volunteer personal information." Lestrade scowled at his son, and the young man smiled back innocently.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes not does not belong to me.


	22. Chapter 22

Author's Note: This is it, folks! Thanks for all the awesome reviews, and thanks for your company on this interesting ride. Jack was such a fun fellow to write, and he is surely his own man, so he may insist on showing up again sometime. Who knows? But anyway, enough chatter.

* * *

"Goodbye, gentlemen. I can honestly say we're sorry to see you go." We were preparing to leave, at last, for home, and Jack and Conner had come to see us off. "Thank you, Doctor." He turned to me. "I've never been sown up so nicely." He grinned, then addressed my friend. "Thank you, Holmes."

My friend nodded absently, and Jack moved on to Gregson. "Watch out for the Inspector, or he'll have his arm open again in no time."

Gregson laughed. "Don't I know it." Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"Make sure you tell his wife he was injured." Jack added, receiving a glare from his father.

Jack merely grinned. "Give the woman my love." He said to the Inspector. Lestrade nodded, and that was it.

The Inspector turned to Conner and warned him not to let Jack get himself killed.

"I'll try." Conner promised, this time it was Jack who rolled his eyes. "It's been…an honor to meet you, sirs."

The two detectives turned to leave us. Jack hesitated, and turned. "Holmes?" He said lightly, coming back to stand before my friend.

Lightning quick Jack threw a punch, and it connected solidly with Holmes' jaw. Holmes staggered back, and Jack grinned. "Brilliant idea having Lestrade pretend to be me." He said. "But it nearly cost him his life. I owed you for that."

"Of course." Holmes mumbled, rubbing his jaw.

"Bon voyage, gentlemen." Jack said to us, and turned away once more. He quickly disappeared into the crowd, Conner not far behind.

"Pay up." Lestrade said. "I told you he wouldn't let that go."

Gregson grumbled and reached into his pocket. "I'll be glad to be home, I'll tell you that much." He said as we boarded the ship.

Indeed, it would be good to return home to London.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes not does not belong to me.


End file.
